


Slip of the Tongue

by Raichel



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Confessions, First Kiss, M/M, another fic about how the pining might finally be resolved, but it doesn't actually matter, probably post-canon/post-apocolypse, repressed emotions can be very overwhelming, stressed gay mess(TM) Crowley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-05-31 11:32:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19425121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raichel/pseuds/Raichel
Summary: A lot has gone unsaid between Crowley and Aziraphale for all these years. Some things don't need to be said, other things, for one reason or another shouldn't be said.In 6,000 years Crowley never meant to tell Aziraphale "I love you," and he had decided he never would. But it's very easy for three short words to slip out.





	Slip of the Tongue

He never should have said that out loud. The blank look on the angel’s face was the absolute worst thing. It made him feel sick.

He should run away; it wouldn’t be the first time. He could run and never look back, go to a totally different country, change his name, change his hair, complete reboot. No one would ever know, certainly, and he’d never have to face Aziraphale again. Oh, but that thought made his stomach turn all over again. He couldn’t bear to go an eternity without seeing any more of the angel’s unrestrained smile, or seeing that hint of mischief in Aziraphale’s eye; to go an unending lifetime without ever seeing the only other immortal being on the planet again would be torture. But would it be worse than that look?

“What?” Aziraphale breathed, blinking like a startled animal.

“Nothing!” Crowley spat out immediately, “Nothing, I didn’t— forget I ever said anything. Please,” he tried not to sound like he was begging, but it didn’t really work.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale took a step toward him, and Crowley stumbled back. Whatever the angel was about to say he couldn’t take it. There was a reason he hadn’t said anything for 6,000 years.

“I’m sorry,” Crowley said, “I should never have—“ did Aziraphale know he was quite literally backing him into a corner? He stopped short, barely avoiding tripping over a stack of books, and Aziraphale managed to take his hands. Crowley’s attention jerked around to the show of affection and his heart leapt, doing nothing to calm the tumult inside him.

“Crowley, it’s alright,” Aziraphale told him, smiling sweetly (could he smile any other way?), and Crowley almost believed him. “I love you too,” he told him, and it was lucky Crowley didn’t really need to breathe, his heart didn’t need to beat, because he could swear his body stopped working for a moment. He nearly lost his balance entirely, but Aziraphale steadied him (didn’t he always?). “My dear, you’re white as a sheet,” Aziraphale noted, “are you alright?”

“I’ll tell you when my heart restarts,” he gasped, trying to resume breathing properly.

“What?!”

“I-I’ll be alright,” he assured the panicked angel, “I just wasn’t expecting, well,” he trailed off into stammering, getting caught in Aziraphale’s worried gaze and losing all coherent thought.

“…me to love you?” Aziraphale finished for him, worry replaced with another smile, “Of course I do, Crowley. I love everyone, for starters.”

Crowley’s stomach turned again; oh god, was this a misunderstanding? Would it be better or worse if it was? He’d helped out with inventing roller coasters back when they were rickety death machines, but this was far, far worse. He was surely going to pass out at this rate.

“Even demons?” he asked, stupidly. He was very overwhelmed. 

“Well, one demon,” Aziraphale told him. Crowley, still utterly stupefied, gestured weakly to himself. Aziraphale chuckled, and it was the most wonderful sound, “yes, Crowley. Are you sure you’re alright? Perhaps you should sit down.”

“Maybe,” the demon squeaked.

Aziraphale carefully led him over to an armchair, and he collapsed into it with the slightest coaxing from Aziraphale. 

“You really—?” he asked Aziraphale the half-question, starting to regain some amount of sense. 

“Of course, dear,” he replied, crouching down to Crowley’s level and placing a hand on the side of his face. “I’ve loved you for a long time now.”

“Isn’t it torture?” Crowley said, a little honesty sneaking out past his defenses. 

“It was, a bit,” Aziraphale admitted. “I’ve wanted to do this for decades.” Then the angel leaned forward and kissed him. As Crowley practically dissolved into Aziraphale’s arms, he was so glad he’d said that out loud.


End file.
